


In the fell clutch of circumstance

by viveriveniversumvivusvici55



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Here Lies the Abyss, Gen, Hawke (Dragon Age) Lives, Non-Canon Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Quote: I saw you. Don't let it get to your head., Tevinter Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Warden (Dragon Age) Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 19:36:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21081992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viveriveniversumvivusvici55/pseuds/viveriveniversumvivusvici55
Summary: Ariadne is not unconquerable. She has flinched and cried and bowed her bloody head.But she willnotlose anyone else.





	In the fell clutch of circumstance

**Author's Note:**

> Ariadne is one of my non-canon Inquisitors. She is a Tevinter refugee (for similar reasons to Dorian), a former Knight Captain in the Minrathous Circle, and very, very angry.
> 
> Title taken from and story heavily inspired by "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley.

The air is black and green, swirling around them like smoke. The mud kicks up around their feet, and Ariadne feels somewhere in the back of her mind, the deepest gratitude that she has managed to keep one foot in front of the other. But then...

The Nightmare roars, its many eyes searching the Fade, legs wiggling in the air. Ariadne feels an ugly shiver run up her spine and her hands shake a little. Maker, she hates spiders. She hates spiders with every fiber of her being, and now there is a giant spider between her and freedom. She can faintly see Adamant through the green swirling light, and as much as she wants to turn tail and run from that thing, she feels her core resolve strengthen.

_Get past and get to freedom. That's all you have to do. You just have to get past._

_But how?_

"How do we get by?" Alistair asks, horror in his voice as he stares. Ariadne isn't looking at him, of course, but she can imagine the expression on his face is similar to hers.

"Go, I'll cover you." Hawke replies, face stern.

Ariadne and Alistair turn to stare at Hawke in unison. "No!" Ariadne shouts.

Alistair is more cogent than her. "No. You were right. The Wardens caused this mess. A Warden must -"

"A Warden must help them rebuild! That's _your _job," Hawke glares at the demon, malice in her voice. "Corypheus is mine."

Quiet falls and it only takes a moment for Ariadne to realize the horror of the moment. She is supposed to choose. She has to make it out - it's the only way to stop Corypheus for good - but this Nightmare has to be diverted from the rift so any of them can get through. That means a distraction, wherein whoever does the distracting won't get through.

She has to pick which one of them will die.

Rage immediately replaces horror. No. No, she won’t choose. She has already caused enough pain from making choices that have torn people and lives apart. She lost so much to even get to the Conclave, to get away from Tevinter, and now with this rank of Inquisitor on top of her, she has lost even more. For a brief moment, face flash across her mind. Ariadne’s fingers curl tighter around her sword and she makes the call.

“Then you are going to be there when Corypheus dies,” she glares at Hawke before turning to Alistair, “and you will be there to help them rebuild.”

“You can’t!” Hawke stares. “They need you more than us!”

She raises her sword, shifts her feet in preparation to charge, and a grin cuts across her face. “Then cover me. I can open another rift if that one closes.”

Hawke gets it first. “The three of us. Against that?”

Alistair stares in horror. “You can’t be serious. We can’t do that.”

“You took down an Archdemon. And you took down a woman made of red lyrium,” Ariadne replies, "And I stabilized the damn Breach. We have people to get back to. Let's not disappoint them."

The bravado startles them both before Alistair makes an affirmative noise. Hawke follows. “I have always hated spiders.”

Ariadne’s grin grows sharper. She takes a breath, eyes closing, and her prayers are soft as she whispers, “Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.”

She hands Hawke every lyrium potion she carries, and they spread the health potions among each other. There isn't much, but there is enough. The Nightmare roars, stepping closer...

And the three of them charge. Magic rips across Hawke’s fingers, fire already flowing through the air in the direction of the demon's mouth. Alistair and Ariadne raise their swords, the blades glowing in the green light. Alistair focuses on the head, and Ariadne slides under on her shield, sword raised to cut across the demon’s hungry belly. Ice fills the cracks, spikes driving up into the demon, and Hawke snarls in anger in time with its shrieks. Ariadne's curses fill the air as she dodges the far too many legs, her sword hitting armor and rocks, sparks flying. Alistair calls out a war cry for the Grey Wardens as he rips wounds open further. Ariadne scales rock to take a flying leap, sword ready to plunge deep into cracks in the armor, as the Nightmare shrieks and bites at them.

It will take time. But they will do it. Their stories will not end here.

-

“Where ARE THEY?” Cassandra is horrified, staring at the spot where the rift closed. 

“No. No…” Varric is too, unable to wrap his head around it. “There’s no way we lost the three of them.”

Dorian is silent, staring at the hole. “Come on, Ariadne,” he mutters softly. “Come back. Don't make me tell your brother and sister that you were lost in the Fade.”

Chaos erupts around them with the realization that three of the most influential people in Thedas may have just been lost. The Inquisition barely calms everyone down. Surprisingly, it is Blackwall who gives the quiet command. “Wait. We give them a day. They are not lost to us yet.”

"And if they don't come out?" Cassandra's voice is shaking, helpless rage flooding her.

Blackwall's expression does not change, but those close enough can see him stiffen."They will. But if they don't, then we make preparations to fight back. They didn't go down easily. Neither will we."

-

“A RIFT IS OPENING!”

Everyone gets up at that, rushing to the courtyard. It’s been a few hours – dawn is breaking over the battlements, and all of the soldiers look tired. They all circle the area as a green crack fills the air, cutting to the ground, and the Wardens stand ready to fight. Swords, blades, and staves are drawn, waiting for whatever will come out.

The moment they think it will happen, it doesn’t. It’s off tempo, a sudden shift as three bodies rip out of the green, arms locked together, an arm over someone’s shoulders. They are covered in blood, green and red intermingled, and they sink to the ground. A hand raises, green light crackling from it, and just as quick as the hole was torn, it is sealed shut.

Varric can’t believe his eyes. There is Hawke, black hair pinned to her head with blood, a jagged cut across her nose and her mana visibly drained. Alistair, blonde hair stained green, armour torn in places, his sword dull. And…

There is Ariadne. Their Inquisitor. Her hands shake with the effort of staying conscious, her sword completely dull, knives on her belt missing, her shield cracked down the front. But she looks up, brown eyes unfocused before settling on the dwarf, and a tired grin cracks across her face.

“Andraste’s dimpled buttcheeks,” he mutters, stepping closer, putting Bianca on his back. “Is it…did you get it?”

Hawke laughs, a tired broken sound. Ariadne does too, and she sits up, still on her knees but her back straight. She nods. “We got it. And we lost no one.”

There is silence as the people around them work out if they should cheer.

Ariadne gathers herself. “Corypheus sought to cripple us. Not only the Wardens, not only the Inquisition, but all of Thedas with loss and corruption. He did not win today. We will spite him today and carry on.”

She calls for the Wardens to stay and rebuild. Alistair smiles beside her, tired and weak, and Hawke nods in agreement. She calls for the Inquisition to stand, and slowly the three of them stagger to their feet, raising a fist in triumph.

Finally, there are cheers.

Ariadne is triumphant. Tired, but triumphant. She has not been a good leader to the Inquisition. She’s made mistakes, costly ones, and she has let them drag her down. But no more. She will find her strength and she will push through.

She is the Inquisition, and she is still Ariadne.

This is her call how this ends. And she will make sure Corypheus knows it. She will make sure _the world _knows it.

**Author's Note:**

> _It matters not how strait the gate,_  
How charged with punishments the scroll,  
I am the master of my fate,  
I am the captain of my soul.


End file.
